


A Familiar Escapade

by cutiecannibal



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutiecannibal/pseuds/cutiecannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock persuades John to come with him to an old decrepit castle somewhere in the forest of Mayfair. John has no idea what he's up to, and neither does Sherlock really. That is until they uncover something that should've never really been seen again; that plummets them into a nightmarish place full of all kinds of horrors. Will they escape with their lives? Probably not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> They get transported to castle Brennenburg okay sld;fgjsdlfg the castles are linked stop commenting when you haven't read it all! Besides this will never be finished so don't comment in the first place!

John had been standing in line at the grocery store when he received a series of texts immediately from Sherlock.

He ignored the first two but after about five times he angrily fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

9:00 a.m. [John! -SH]

9:00 a.m. [John?! -SH]

9:00 a.m. [Where are you? -SH]

9:01 a.m. [I need you to come to Mayfair immediately. -SH]

9:01 a.m. [Not in trouble..it's for a case. -SH]

9:01 a.m. [Are you coming or what? I'm waiting. -SH]

9:01 a.m. [John? Hello, I need you to answer me. -SH]

He sighed and texted him back.

9:04 a.m. [Sherlock I'm getting the groceries, wait a second will you? -JW]

9:04 a.m. [Oh right. Forgot. Hurry up. I'm at Mayfair. We're going into the forest so be prepared to take a long drive. Meet me at Pike st. and we'll take a bus from there.-SH] he got the reply back almost immediately.

He moved up in line just a bit. There were at least four other people in front of him, this was why he was used to the chip-and-pin machine though he wasn't really in the mood for yelling this early in the morning.

Taking one last desperate look at the front of the line he sighed and moved his cart off to the side. The workers wouldn't particularly be happy about the excess amount of food he wouldn't be purchasing that they would have to take upon themselves to put up...but right now he was more curious as to what Sherlock was doing at Mayfair than anything, as far as he knew they didn't have a case going on at the moment.

He stepped outside into the cool October air and zipped his jacket up. It was getting pretty chilly for it to be so early in October. He walked out to the edge of the sidewalk through the crisp yellow and brown leaves that had fallen and raised his hand. "Taxi!" he said loudly but no one stopped. He didn't have Sherlock's skill of hailing a taxi whenever he wanted and he sighed after about three of them passed. He wasn't having very good luck today it would seem. He turned away from the street and started walking down the sidewalk, his hands shoved in his pocket in an attempt to keep out the cold.

As he walked he felt like someone was watching him. He turned back warily but saw no one. You could never be too sure what with having "The World's only Consulting Detective" as a flatmate and his "Private Government Official in Charge of Top Secret Matters" brother keeping him under surveillance, you never knew what kind of enemies those two had, and what they would do if they ever got ahold of him. He shuddered and walked at a quicker pace.

It was only a brisk six minute walk to Mayfair and only an additional five to find the street address Sherlock had requested he come to. As he got there -out of breath and breathing harshly- he saw the familiar long coat and scarf of the great Sherlock Holmes waiting impatiently beside what looked like a bus sign with at least twenty people crowded around. There were more people in this part of the city than the last couple of blocks and John was slightly relieved. Sherlock on the other hand looked completely uncomfortable for what reason John couldn't quite understand.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed as he impatiently waved for him to come over. John rolled his eyes and briskly jogged the rest of the way.

"Had to run all the way here." he huffed in annoyance. Sherlock either didn't hear the tone in Johns voice or he just didn't care because his only reply was a meagre shrug.

"Ok, so what is it?" John asked, his serious tone returning to fill in for the annoyed one in his previous statement. This time Sherlock shot him a glance that he took to mean "Shut Up John As Much As I Enjoy Your Company On Most Occasions You're Becoming A Nuisance", though he had just spent hours grocery shopping for nothing and wasn't quite about to let it go that easily.

"Sherlock! Tell me what we're doing here." he snapped in a barely hushed whisper.

"John. Shut up." Sherlock hissed through his clenched teeth. This made John all the more enraged, though the only sign of this was the jab directed to Sherlocks rib.

The crowd surrounding them was quite loud at some points and eerily quiet at others. John wondered why on Earth they were waiting for a bus out to the middle of the forest and wished to ask Sherlock. That, however, got him a glare and huff from his companion. He rolled his eyes and gave up for the moment.

After at least 10 minutes of standing on the godforsaken curb, their bus was nowhere to be seen. Oh, don't think this meant there was nothing on the road whatsoever. There were cabs, and trucks, and cars, and all sorts of easily accessible vehicles zooming past them. But no-ooo, they had to wait here for some bus to take them deep into some forest to some old, decrepit castle. He sighed and crossed his arms not gaining any attention from the consulting detective who just seemed to be staring straight ahead..

5 Minutes later, John was furious. "When are we going to get on this bus?" sarcasm dripped from his every word.

"It should be here soon." he got a reply in the form of an anxious, annoyed voice from beside him. Hm, so Sherlock was annoyed at how long it was taking too? How long had he been here in the first place?

"How long have you been standing here?"

"Hmph."

"Is this just a journey on a whim or are we seriously waiting here for a bus to take us to a murder scene?"

"*mumble* Hmph."

"Can't we just get a cab?"

"NO. WE CAN'T GET A CAB." Sherlock snapped loudly than he was probably meaning to. It got him a couple strange states from various people surrounding them to which he paid no heed to.

"WELL WHY EVER NOT?!" John matched Sherlocks pitch for every note causing more and more of the crowd to turn to watch the spectacle.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and spoke dangerously low, "Because this bus is the only thing that will take us there." he seemed to be picking his words carefully.

The crowd was attentive even though they weren't exactly looking at them. John was half exhausted half confused and almost completely bent on strangling the consulting detective when the bus pulled up.

Now, John had seen a lot of vehicles in his lifetime, and though a few were far from the best times of their lives; this one took the cake. It was some sort of carriage bus and basically the Antichrist on wheels. To say the least, it was terribly ugly.

The whole crowd surged forward as soon as the "bus" opened its doors. Sherlock elbowed him in the ribs and began trying to make his way towards the bus. John took this as a sign to follow him and he tried to make his way, albeit politer, through the crowd.

By the time they got on the bus only a few seats were left. A few meaning chairs with no seats, chairs twisted up into mangled shapes, and one particular chair in which a dead dog made its presence. He held back a gag. Sherlock took his wrist and headed them both towards the less mangled, yet still somehow very unappealing, seats available in the back. John pulled against him a couple times saying he could walk by himself after a few gawking passengers, but Sherlock moved on relentlessly. They were the only two in the very back of the bus, and the only ones to have to try to sit on two beaten up, thrown together chairs. John cringed when he sat as the wires snipped at his back. Sherlock on the other hand seemed far too comfortable on the gnarled up cove of a chair he was in.

The bus's driver yelled something in the front and the bus spurted forward. He rocketed forward, barely catching himself on the metal wires poking out of the wannabe chair when the bus gradually slowed to an acceptable speed.

"Jesus Christ Sherlock what /is/ this?" he finally managed to get out. Sherlock didn't waste any time at all getting to the point after everyone's attention was focused on something different.

"We're heading to a castle. This bus is the only thing that will take us out far enough to get to the castle. The locals like to alert the police whenever they encounter 'trespassers' such as ourselves. And I have went on this bus quite a few times to get to the far out countryside of Mayfair for certain cases." he sped through his explanation with his normal clipped tone and then snuck a glance at John to make sure he was following. "Does that answer everything?" he snapped when John didn't answer right offhand.

"Oh yeah yeah, but, why exactly are we, y'know, going?" he questioned trying to gesture forward.

At this his curly haired companion gave a smirk, "The unknown offers more of a thrill than a simple case Watson." was his only response.

John just rolled his eyes.


	2. chapter 2

The ride to the castle was more of a blank memory to John than anything. He had dozed off a bit despite the humid conditions the broken air conditioner filled the room with, the sharp stops that snapped him awake when the metal pierced his back, and the loud mumbling Sherlock was doing beside of him; and he /had /stayed asleep for quite a while after all.

They were headed towards their final stop, a pale orange house with a bit of chipped paint around the white window frames, when John eventually woke up. As the small, frail woman made her escape off the death trap of a bus, John opened his groggy eyes and yawned. It took him only a few seconds to completely awaken from his nap but he eventually sat up in the uncomfortable chair and looked out the patched up window to his right.

They were at the very edge of an expanse of looming pine trees which seemed to have a sort of village near it that they were stopped at. After the woman got off a couple young men and a mother and child made their way off. At this loss the bus seemed eerily quiet, besides the eternal running of the loud engine. It sounded as if it would die at any given moment. John still didn't feel safe on this damn bus.

After everyone was off, Sherlock shot up out of his seat and towards the driver of the bus. John looked up at him in shock and surprise and he quickly noted that Sherlock probably knew him, as he didn't normally seem too eager to speak to people.

"Mr. Bateson, so nice to see you again." he smirked as he sat down on the very front seat to the right. The man turned back to him and smiled, almost like someone who had a secret that he wanted to keep hidden and as such made such a small smile that no one would question him further. John felt uncomfortable in his presence.

"Ey jus call me Pól." he grinned back at him. "But ah, Sherlock," he said in an unmistakably deep Scottish accent, "Quite nice ta be on ole' Veronica again ain't it?"

Sherlock nodded quickly and said "Yes she's as nice as ever." in his most clipped, yet oddly nice, tone.

John rolled his eyes as the old man let out a chortle of laughter, "Oh boy I know she ain't like she used ter be, but she runs." he gave the steering wheel a pat that had dust flying into the air.

"Um, excuse me, but are we going to go soon?" John asked anxiously.

Pól looked at him pointedly through the large cracked mirror above the dash and gave a snort, "What are ya being impatient fer? Jus calm down." he shook his head as he pulled the buses lever into drive. Sherlock shot a look at him that he took as annoyance, but he didn't actually care as he sat on the other seat to the left, behind Pól.

"So anyways where ya going this time Sherlock?" Pól asked as he slammed on the pedal and had the bus rocket forward through the trees. John was prepared and stopped himself from slamming into the seat in front of him as Sherlock answered Pól's question.

"The old castle? You know how bad that place is Sherlock! It's got-" he cut himself off and let the roar of the engine overtake his sigh.

"What is it Mr. Bateson? Tell us about the Mayfair castle." he said excitedly.

Pól shook his head exasperatedly, both at the formality in Sherlock's statement and the statement as a whole, and with a deep breath he began his story. "Well, the castle's name is Farroway. It's said ta be connected with another castle somewhere in Germany, which used to be Prussia, named Brennenburg. Bad things happened years ago in that castle. The Prussians used to say it was haunted. That soldiers that left their posts turned inta terrible monsters cause their souls were so twisted and were doomed to live ferever in the forest. And some guy named Agrippa just up and disappeared one night into the forest, never to return. Then there's the immortal baron of Brennenburg who had seemed to live over three hundred years back in the 1800s. His family was secretive about lineage and heritage an his death and birth were never fully recorded. They said he was a member of the Black Eagles too but I tell ye that's probably a load a bologna. Then there's that stupid guy that picked up some orb in Africa and unleashed a monster. So basically, Farroway is connected by some orb an Englishman picked up all those years ago in Africa and brought back ta London with him. Then he went ter Brennenburg and left the other orb here while the baron had the other. The towns historian found the orb and left it in Farroway. That means both castles are connected by those damned orbs. But even though all this happened hundreds o years ago ya both don't need ta be pickin at it ya hear me?" he finished his speech as they both stared at him through the mirror. John had a look of pure terror on his face and Sherlock just the opposite, with bright eyes and a grin.

"Sherlock!" John shouted in abhorrence, "Why would you think this is a good idea?! We're going to be messing with evil things if we go to this castle and I'm not having any of it!" he shouted as he crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Im not going to go to some evil castle with monsters and barons and orbs! We're not- Sherlock? Sherlock are you even listening to me?!" he shouted angrily.

Sherlock's grin just got bigger and bigger as the story went on and when Pól had finished he turned his head to John and said "John isn't this going to be amazing?! We might make a national discovery by visiting this castle, Farroway, Farroway castle!" he exclaimed.

"No Sherlock you aren't listening to me! I'm not going in that castle.

"Why are you scared? Monsters, barons, really now?" he asked monotonously in his quick little arrogant way that made John want to punch him.

"No it's just, Sherlock you remember that case in Baskerville. We were both scared because we thought that hound was real. This could be the same thing. And we'll both be scared. Alone. In a decrepit, evil castle in the middle of the woods with no way to get home." he explained with gritted teeth.

Sherlock seemed to deflate a bit and opened his mouth to talk when Pól let out a loud whistle and said "Wouldja look at that view."

They both turned to look and saw a beautiful view of a wide blue lake with flickers of the dying orange sun in it's depths. They were turning right down a rough dirt road with the view of a gorgeous lake and the old castle of Farroway with its roof caving in and broken windows reflecting the Farroway Lake and the sun as well. Besides this, the sun was setting right behind the castle making it seem to glow with a mysterious aura that was oddly inviting. Everyone was in awe at the sight. Then the bus sputtered a bit on the road as it turned into mud and grass and the wheels began to spin.

"Shit!" Pól cursed as he smashed his foot on the gas pedal. The bus slowly moved forward through the mud until a sudden jerk and gurgle showed that it couldn't go any farther. Pól hit the palms of his hand down on the steering wheel and let out a loud sigh as the bus died.

"Well, guess this is as far as we get ha ha!" he laughed looking back at the two of them.

"Time fer ya both to go examine this hellhole." he said pulling a lever and opening the creaky door.

"Thanks Mr. Bateson" Sherlock said as he made his way off the bus.

"Don't mention it Sherlock! Be careful and make sure ya come see me again if ye gotta get anywhere!" he waved him off. John nodded his head, following Sherlock as he got off.

"Thank you Mr. Bateson, uh, I mean Pól."

"Ey, yer welcome. Make sure he doesn't get inta any trouble wouldje?" he said worriedly to which John let out a little laugh and said "I'll try my best Pól." before leaving Veronica the Antichrist bus to be dealt with by her owner.

When he caught up to Sherlock they were just a few feet from the ominous, looming castle of Farroway.

"So, we're really going to do this?" John asked as they skirted a large puddle of mud.

"*hmph* Of course John. Why do you think we road that bus all the way here?" Sherlock let out a snort.

John didn't reply and instead put his hands in his pockets to try to divert the chilly fall air from them as he stared up at the immense castle.

They got up to the large wooden door and a thought suddenly occurred to John, well, one among countless others.

"Sherlock how are we going to get inside?" he asked surveying the bolted door. Sherlock stared at it for less than a second before he turned his head to the side and began looking around the edges of the windows.

"The door is a decoy John. Only used when the owner needed. He had a normal door. But the chances of finding it are slim. We might as well get in through a window." and with that he threw off his scarf and began to wrap his right hand with it carefully.

John watched on, a small pit of worry forming in his stomach. Sherlock walked up to one of the tall windows on the very left, pushed the glass just a bit with his unwrapped hand, then lifted and slammed his other hand into the old glass.

It broke apart quite easily, shards flying into smaller pieces which they themselves shattered into smaller bits. The window was so tall, almost like a stained glass one you may find in a church so the pieces rained down their colourful shards in what seemed like a rainbow. It was almost hypnotic.

Sherlock had, thankfully, jumped out of the way quick enough to avoid the glass and had began to climb into the castle.

"John, are you going to come along?" Sherlock snapped as he daintily pushed himself over the window pane and into the castle.

"Oh, oh yeah." he replied shaking the hypnotic feeling from his head. He made his way over, trying to avoid the glass as best as he could, and hopped over the windowsill just as the sound of a bus starting up and reversing as quick as it could was heard in the distance.


End file.
